OCTOBER IN BROADLAND. 113 



used to crowd here; many a rare bird, too, like the spoonbill, avocet, black-tailed 

 godwit, and others fell to their guns. These, with black terns, phalaropes, and 

 other rarities, and crowds of the commoner curlews, bartailed godwits, knots, and 

 grey-plovers these last three in their striking nuptial plumage dropped in in 

 springtime on their way north, and again in autumn, after the duties of procreation 

 had ended. What hauls, before the ' close seasons' were instituted, did the hardy 

 wild-fowlers make at times! But great changes have taken place in their one- 

 time favourite habitats. And now October finds us with fewer birds to shoot, or 

 look at. 



As we drift and paddle up-stream, the calls of a few curlews, ringed plovers, 

 dunlins, and mayhap, of some less common species, ring out over the rippling 

 waste of waters. 



A short way ahead of us, upon the shelving mud, are half-a-dozen small grey 

 birds. They are about as large as doves. Grive us the glasses. What pretty little 

 fellows! they are knots. What are they doing? Two are splashing thigh deep 

 in the shallow, washing their already spotlessly clean plumage. The others are 

 nimbly running here and there in search of red ragworms, or any small unfortunate 

 crustacean that may have been playing in a tiny puddle. Now they all t bunch 

 up,' run a short way again, then turn, and innocently eye us, as we come within 

 gunshot. A strange weeting cry of alarm escapes one ; but, as if still willing to 

 trust us, they remain motionless. Shall we fire now? No! let the poor things go, 

 why should we harm them ? We remain looking down the barrel of our redoubt- 

 able old eight -bore. We do not hesitate long. A mallard comes whizzing past, 

 but we ' draw bead ' upon him, and his fall headlong into the water follows the 

 report. We can eat him. Such are the tender mercies of the wild-fowler. 



